


Neither Here Nor There

by Emelye



Category: The Hobbit (Jackson Movies), The Hobbit - All Media Types, The Hobbit - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: Angst, Happy Ending, M/M, Missing Scene, Schmoop
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-01-12
Updated: 2013-01-12
Packaged: 2017-11-25 04:39:12
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,389
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/635207
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Emelye/pseuds/Emelye
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>He’d relived his adventure a hundred times over for the entertainment of the shire and the education of his nephew and the young Gamgee. The words of the tale were like polished rocks, worn smooth by the passage of time. But <i>these</i> words, these <i>particular</i> words he’d committed to paper and done his utmost to never think on them but when the nights were coldest and he felt the call of the West most keenly. On those nights he would sometimes sit with his old ring before the fire until dawn, lest he be taken down into dreams sweetly torturous and the longing to wander affect him more strongly in the morning.</p><p> </p><p>  <i>This is the account of a prince of Erebor, companion to the King Under the Mountain, King of Durin’s Folk…</i></p>
            </blockquote>





	Neither Here Nor There

“Uncle? What is this?”

Bilbo looked up from his porridge, immediately recognizing the sheaf of papers in his nephew’s hand. “Give me those,” he snapped. “I’ve told you to stay out of my study.” 

Frodo gave him a hard look. “The party is tomorrow and everything is beginning to spill over into the passage. Are you writing about your adventure?” 

Bilbo’s mouth tightened. “I’ll have those, if you please. Don’t you have work to do?” 

Frodo let out an impatient huff of breath and laid them on the table, then turned to go. For a moment, Bilbo saw him hesitate as if to say something, but the moment passed and Bilbo was left alone with the sound of the fire in the kitchen hearth and his own thoughts. He reached for the papers hesitantly, as if they might do him injury. _And they very well might_ , he thought with bitter amusement. He’d relived his adventure a hundred times over for the entertainment of the shire and the education of his nephew and the young Gamgee. The words of the tale were like polished rocks, worn smooth by the passage of time. But _these_ words, these _particular_ words he’d committed to paper and done his utmost to never think on them but when the nights were coldest and he felt the call of the West most keenly. On those nights he would sometimes sit with his old ring before the fire until dawn, lest he be taken down into dreams sweetly torturous and the longing to wander affect him more strongly in the morning. 

_This is the account of a prince of Erebor, companion to the King Under the Mountain, King of Durin’s Folk…_

There was a chest in his study, like many others, containing a bit of gold. “It smells of troll,” he complained whenever Frodo had given himself over to his Tookish curiosity. He’d returned to the Shire with it and one other. In a far away mountain, lay other treasures of the King and his Shireling companion. The King had died, long ago and his companion had refused the right of rule. Though the idea of leaving his ties to his King behind him in Erebor had pained him, a dwarf was required on the throne. And so a dwarf was chosen, and the Shireling companion of the dwarf king took a small share of treasure to be polite, another chest of kingly gifts to a beloved companion, and departed. 

He’d not expected his relations to be all but wringing down his curtains upon his return. He’d not considered what he might do with himself upon his return to the Shire, and perhaps if his claim on his home had gone unchallenged, he might have willingly parted with it when the rooms grew too empty and the days too idle. Perhaps it was dwarvish influence, but in that moment, he resolved to tell Lobelia to go to blazes. He’d fought to reclaim Erebor for Durin’s folk, and he could do no less for his own hearth! He showed the auctioneers the door with no small amount of proprietary satisfaction. 

Bag End was ever so much quieter than he’d remembered. The dim lamps cast shadows across the floor and glinted off the hinges of the chests. He dropped his scabbard and cloak on the floor where once the booming thunder of dwarvish boots had laid mud upon the boards and voices had filled the rooms with bright life and Bilbo couldn’t recall his collapse onto the floor at all, nor the tears that filled his vision, only it seemed he’d gladly trade all this damnable _peace_ for one more adventure if he could but see Thorin Oakenshield darkening his doorway once more. 

He’d barely the presence of mind to shove it all out of the passage before stripping down and falling into his own, soft bed. And even that now ruined forever. His tears carried him to sleep and dreams of caves and mountain halls and a stout warrior-King upon his throne, a seat by his side and a soft look in his dark eyes. 

He woke to knocking at the door, loud and fast and for a moment allowed himself foolish hopes that he was being summoned back, that the King lived and he was required at his side, but it was only the Gaffer, welcoming him home and asking about the garden. The sight of the chests in the doorway of his study gave him pause. Bilbo opened the second chest and withdrew the gold chain, placing it around his neck and tucking it beneath his shirt. It had been explained to him that dwarves married for life. 

That afternoon, as a covenant between himself and his King Under the Mountain, he wrote their tale. And though he would go on to pen the story of their adventure, it was their mutual admiration and affection, and later, their love and even their passion that first he committed to paper. 

It was that account that his nephew had found in the tumultuous upheaval of his study. 

He could feel himself stretched thin on the eve of his eleventy-first birthday. He’d not expected to live this long, nor in such health. He was beginning to despair of ever crossing the farther shore to see Thorin once again. He knew his nephew meant well, but Bilbo was growing impatient. He’d wanted to have done with the Shire by now. Leave his legacy safely entrusted to Frodo and be at peace. Alas, Bilbo feared matters would have to be taken into his own hands. 

He resolved to return to Erebor at last, bid a final farewell to his King, and then take his rest. It was a plan he was anxious to implement, however it seemed there was one final account to settle. Frodo was a solitary young man, much as Bilbo had been, and while often in the company of his cousins, his only other company seemed to be that of young Samwise Gamgee. And long had he observed Sam’s devotion to Frodo. Perhaps, he thought, it would do to tell his nephew of what transpired, if it might grant him peace of mind on some future day. He laid the fire and poured the tea. 

“Frodo, come here, my boy.” 

Frodo appeared in the doorway with no small measure of puzzlement written across his face. “Yes, Uncle?” 

“Sit down, please.” Frodo took a stool by the hearth as was his habit. Bilbo handed him tea and sat beside him, sipping from his own cup and staring into the fire for a long moment. Frodo waited patiently for him to speak. A long moment later, his courage gained, he spoke. 

“I’ve often told you of my adventure with the dwarves, but I’ve not told you everything. It’s time you knew all of it.” 

Frodo sat forward on his stool. 

“You know how the tale begins. With Gandalf and a company of twelve dwarves at Bag End. You know we set out for the Lonely Mountain, that we encountered trolls, goblins, and all manner of difficulty. You know that Thorin Oakenshield was the leader of our company. King Under the Mountain,” he said. “You know that he perished at the Battle of Five Armies with his nephews, Kili and Fili. What you do not know is that when he died, I was the Prince of Erebor by rights, and could have assumed the throne of Erebor.” 

Frodo regarded him with a great deal of skepticism. “Uncle, I’m afraid I don’t understand.” 

Bilbo looked into the fire and smiled sadly. “Before he died, Thorin Oakenshield saw fit to marry me.” Frodo’s eyes widened. He blinked a dozen times, mouth attempting to form words but found none. “It is not our custom here, but among dwarves, where women are scarce, the men often find companionship with one another,” explained Bilbo. 

“I see,” said Frodo. 

“It had never occurred to me that I might find someone with whom I wished to share my life. But Thorin was one with whom I would have gladly spent two lifetimes. And for a short while, we were as happy as anyone could be in the midst of such peril.” 

Frodo stared deep into the fire, obviously much upon his mind. “You’d not have children,” he said after a long while. 

Bilbo smiled. “No. But then we both had nephews very dear to our hearts,” he said, placing a hand upon Frodo’s shoulder. 

Frodo nodded and looked up at his uncle’s face before covering his hand with his own. “Thank you, Uncle. But why did you never say anything? You must have been lonely all these years.” 

Bilbo sighed and sipped at his tea before loosening the button of his shirt to withdraw the chain from around his neck. “I confess, I thought I might have gone to meet him long before now.” 

Frodo started at that and gave him a piercing look. “Is that what the maps are all about?” 

Bilbo winced. “Frodo, I am one hundred and eleven years old. I am tired. You’re of age now, I’m confident that you and Sam—” and he did not miss the blush upon Frodo’s face at the sound of his name, “Shall manage Bag End admirably. Please do not ask me anymore.” 

Frodo obviously wanted to do little else, but mercifully held his tongue. 

_The courtship, if one could call it that, was rather improvised in the midst of the quest. Short on traditional dwarvish tokens of jewels and metalcraft or hobbit gifts of flowers and foodstuffs, but rich in small courtesies, sharing of rations, and gifts of armament. Despite the lack, their regard grew until opportunity presented itself in Laketown for hobbit and dwarf to be pledged._

_By the light of the full moon, they were wed by Balin, son of Fundin. There was no feast, as time was short..._

Frodo set down the sheaf of papers upon the desk. It was the day following his birthday, and Bilbo was gone. He hardly knew what to make of the story. That his uncle was very odd, certainly. It was almost unheard of that a hobbit should marry outside their race. While it was more common that a hobbit should take an interest in other lads, it was certainly never spoken of openly. It seemed very strange indeed. 

Frodo put the papers in the desk and resolved to think on it later. 

By the time he reached Rivendell, Bilbo was feeling nearly every one of his eleventy-one years. He was met by a company of Lord Elrond who were quite hospitable. They offered him rooms and something to eat and by and by, he began to feel slightly less faded, but there was no question of him continuing on to Erebor. 

The ring was gone from him. He’d resolved himself to it, understood the necessity of it, and while he felt strangely hollow without it, the feeling itself indicated he was right in parting with it—though the lack meant he no longer possessed strength enough to complete his final journey to the mountain. 

_It wasn’t a dear thing. It was gold, but not such a great quantity to be so jealously guarded. It was enchanted, and the value in being able to slip about unnoticed was not without worth, but Bilbo was no burglar in truth, and as a hobbit, skilled in evading detection, it was uncertain why he should feel so strongly that he should keep it._

_He’d awoken from a sound sleep a half dozen nights to reach for it, frantically, to reassure himself of its presence before it began to occur to him that there might be some dark magic about it._

By the time the company had reached Erebor, Bilbo had begun to love and fear the ring in equal measure. He recalled the creature Gollum, and began to wonder if he was destined for a similar fate. It was with this upon his mind as he beheld his beloved’s fierce passion for the Arkenstone that led him to pocket the stone in secret. He’d heard the tale of madness befalling his grandfather, and wished for no similar fate to befall his husband. If he should be tainted by the dark magic compelling him to keep the ring, so then could he bear whatever magic was upon the stone for Thorin’s sake. 

How angry Thorin had been. It was unwise, Bilbo knew now, to offer it in exchange for peace. He’d forgotten the pride of his King. And he wondered if he had not deceived him, if Thorin might have lived. 

_“He is dying”, said Gandalf. With dawning horror, Bilbo entered the tent where his helpmeet lay, bloody and broken._

_Thorin’s breathing was harsh and labored. “Come closer.”_

_Bilbo knelt beside his bed. “You’ll be fine. Gandalf will have you up and about in no time.”_

_“Are you a liar now as well as a thief?”_

_Bilbo paled under the accusation, thinking on his betrayal and banishment._

_“Forgive me, my good thief,” said Thorin quietly. “I go now to the halls of waiting to sit beside my fathers, until the world is renewed.”_

_Bilbo’s hands fisted in anger. “And this is precisely what I meant to prevent, you stupid, stubborn, prideful, dwarf! Don’t you—don’t you dare!” He raged. Thorin’s hand rose weakly to touch his hair and Bilbo choked back his tears. “Please.”_

_“Since I leave now all gold and silver, and go where it is of little worth, I wish to part in friendship from you, and I would take back my words and deeds at the Gate. There is a chest. My…my gift to you. You are a prince of Erebor and entitled to rule if you wish it—”_

_“Beside you? Without a doubt.”_

_“Without me.”_

_Bilbo shook his head fiercely. “No.”_

_Thorin’s hand cupped his cheek. “There is more in you of good than you know, child of the kindly West. Some courage and some wisdom, blended in measure.”_

_Bilbo took his hand, feeling how cold it had become. “Don’t ask me to rule in your stead. I can’t bear it. I couldn’t,” he told him._

_Thorin let out a deep, pained sigh. “Then give it to Dain. You will take the chest, yes?”_

_“Yes I’ll take the damned chest. You’ll carry it to the Shire for me, though, because I’m not riding and I’ve only two arms.”_

_Thorin’s eyes danced with the familiar fond amusement Bilbo thought he would never see again. “I will.”_

_Bilbo nodded tightly. “Good. That’s good. I’m sure we’ll have time for a feast then, since we’ve not yet got around to it.”_

_Thorin smiled weakly. “And will I meet your kin?”_

_“Of course. Quite a lot of them there are, and always more when there’s food on offer.”_

_“Won’t they be mistrustful of a dwarf in their midst?”_

_Bilbo squeezed Thorin’s hand. “They’ll just say that’s the Took in me, shake their heads and go back to stuffing their faces.”_

_Thorin’s expression softened. “I think I should like to meet them all.”_

_“You will. And you’ll see the gardens and orchards in bloom. Gandalf will bring fireworks for the Spring festival.”_

_“And what of my kinfolk and the halls of Erebor?”_

_Bilbo stared off into the fire as he spoke. “We’ll go in the winter time.”_

_“It will be warm there. You’ll hear the singing of the dwarves in the forge rising with the heat from deep in the earth. I should like to see you there among my people. They will love your stout heart and soft eyes as I do. They’ll write songs in your honor and sing them throughout the mountain.”_

_“Maybe they can spare a verse for the hair on my toes.”_

_Thorin gave a frail laugh and began to cough._

_“I’ll have you in my bed, at Bag End,” Bilbo told him. “I’ll keep you there a fortnight and neither of us will walk properly again.”_

_“That should make sitting on the throne a challenge.”_

_Bilbo laughed despite himself and found the tears waiting behind it, this time unable to stop them falling. Thorin gently guided his head onto his chest and wrapped his arms weakly around the hobbit, giving solace even in his final moments._

_“I am sorry,” he confessed miserably._

_“You were right,” Thorin acknowledged. “If more of us valued food and cheer and song above hoarded gold, it would be a merrier world. But, sad or merry, I must leave it, and it certainly isn’t the stone I’m most grieved to be lost to now.”_

_Bilbo could not bear to answer that and silently stared into the fire once again. “Wherever you go I will find you,” he promised._

_Thorin’s eyes began to lose focus. “Do you swear it?”_

_Bilbo swore. “I’ll not be parted from you for long.”_

_Thorin tried to speak but no sound passed his lips. Bilbo sat upon the bed and pulled Thorin into his arms. “Courage, my King. Your fathers are waiting,” he said, voice thick with tears._

_Thorin looked into Bilbo’s face as the light passed out of his eyes forever._

Bilbo’s hair was quite white and his nephew not at all the same as he’d left him when the time came to take the boat from Gray Havens. He was so very weary, but he knew this was only the beginning of his final journey. He wore his best waistcoat for the occasion and his smartest jacket. As always, Thorin’s chain lay securely about his neck. He was greeted warmly at the harbor, and his heart thrummed with the excitement of long anticipation as he boarded the long ship for the Undying Lands. Gandalf leaned close to tell him, “Frodo shall remain in Eldamar to wait for Sam. You and I shall journey onward, I think.” 

Elrond gave Bilbo an imperious look. “You seek the dwarves?” 

“Dwarf,” Gandalf clarified. “Bilbo and Thorin, son of Thrain, were bound together many years ago.” 

“It has long been said by my people that dwarves have no place in the Halls of Waiting,” said Elrond. 

Bilbo grew quite distressed and drew himself up. “No. He is there. I know he is.” 

The Lady of Lórien stepped forward, her hand to Elrond indicating he should be silent. “We cannot know if the King waits in the Halls of Mandos,” she said and Bilbo could not help the small despairing noise he made. But the lady smiled, and said, “There are many mysteries known only to the Valar. Seek out Aulë in his home if you would know the fate of your dwarf. ” 

Bilbo was astounded. Elrond smiled and spoke. “The Valar are grateful to you. To all of you. And you shall find welcome wherever you go.” 

On the shores of Eldamar, they disembarked. “Uncle!” cried Frodo, and Bilbo steadied himself upon the dock, imagining some frailty of age had unfooted him, only to catch sight of his reflection upon the water. His hands rose to his face, the lines of age gone. He laughed to himself, finding his voice had regained its youthful timbre. “Well that should make the journey a sight easier,” he remarked. 

They traveled on from Eldamar to the Pass of Light. There on the edge of the woods and mountains, Gandalf and Bilbo parted ways with Frodo. He embraced his nephew fondly. “I should imagine time works differently here. Perhaps Sam will be along sooner than you think.” 

Frodo held him tighter. “Forgive me, Uncle.” 

“Whatever for?” 

“I did not know,” he said, voice tremulous. 

Bilbo regarded his nephew with kindness. “And how could you have? We might share Tookish blood, but we are Hobbits, Frodo. And adventure is rather an acquired taste, wouldn’t you say?” 

“I daresay I’ve had my fill of it.” 

Bilbo chuckled darkly. “Oh, my boy, our adventure is only beginning. Go fetch your Sam, and when you’ve settled, perhaps you can send word to me, yes?” 

Frodo smiled. “I will. Thank you, Uncle, for everything. And good luck to you.” 

“Take care, my boy.” 

Food was plentiful throughout the land, the vegetation rich and lush, the brush teeming with game and what was better, not an Orc or Warg in sight. “I say, Gandalf, if the other Hobbits knew traveling to be anything like this, you’d not keep them in the Shire long.” 

Gandalf smiled and blew a ring of smoke up through the trees as Bilbo picked a bit of rabbit from his teeth. “Then it is all for the best that they do not know. I have always believed Hobbits are integral to the wellbeing of Middle Earth.” 

Bilbo lay back upon the soft cushion of grass, and thought fondly of his nephew. “So they are. Would you say another day’s journey to the mountain?” 

Gandalf nodded. “If the path and entrance are clear. If not—” Gandalf trailed off, another puff of smoke dancing on the breeze. “Well, I can’t imagine you aren’t expected. Perhaps we’ll find a way in farther West.” 

It was, in fact, no more than a day’s journey, and the path and entrance were neither hidden nor impassable. To lay eyes upon the Mansions of Aulë was to recall Erebor and know at once that it was a pale shadow of the dwelling of the Maker. Though the integrity of the mountain remained, no part of it rested unworked. There were relief carvings upon carvings, inset jewels and inlaid gold. It was beautiful and powerful and Bilbo longed for Thorin more fiercely than ever to share it with. 

The throne room was empty however. And it wasn’t until Gandalf directed him to the forge that he caught sight of the Valar, working upon his anvil. 

“Master Hobbit, you’re late,” said Aulë. 

Bilbo trembled and blinked, stunned. “Forgive me, I wasn’t aware I was expected.” 

The Valar laughed, a sound like thunder in a stone canyon. “You’re seeking Thorin Oakenshield.” 

Bilbo stood taller. “I am.” 

Aulë set down his hammer upon the anvil and returned the tongs to the fire. “You will not find him in the Halls of Waiting.” 

Bilbo fell to his knees. “No, oh, no.” Surviving Thorin had been torturous, but to find him not in Valinor at all was a horror beyond imagining. Was the Gift of Man given also to dwarves? If so, Bilbo would happily meet his death if it would reunite them. Before he could begin planning his demise, however, he heard Gandalf speak. 

“Bilbo, look up.” 

Bilbo raised his eyes and saw standing above him the form of his beloved, resplendent and whole, clothed in gleaming mithril, his hair and beard ornamented and braided and wearing a crown upon his head. 

“Thorin?” 

The dwarf laughed and pulled Bilbo to his feet, crushing him to his chest with joy. Bilbo let out a shuddering breath. 

“I knew you’d find me, Burglar,” Thorin whispered. 

Bilbo kissed him with all the longing of their years apart. “Am I permitted to stay with you?” 

“Here or elsewhere.” Thorin grinned. “We may go where we please, though I have been afforded a place in the Great Forging when the time comes to remake the world.” 

Bilbo’s eyes widened. “And when will that be?” 

Gandalf laughed. “Ages from now.” 

“Time enough for a wedding feast, Hobbit,” said Thorin. “I’ve had time to practice my dancing. Kili tells me I’ve improved greatly.” 

“Kili is here as well?” 

“Among others.” 

_Once there was a hobbit who fell in love with a dwarf. Their wedding bed was canopied with stars, and stripped of their raiment they found one another to be neither burglar nor King, but lover and beloved_. 

“…You’ve not yet seen the Gardens of Lórien. Or we could venture to the Two Trees or, if you like, we could explore the Pelóri. Of course if you’re tired from your journey we can rest here. I’ve rooms below…” Thorin continued, and Bilbo basked in the sound of his voice, recalling him to be a much more taciturn spirit in life. As if in answer to his thoughts, Thorin explained quietly, “I think you’ll find I’ve been a bit preoccupied with your arrival.” 

“He’s forged you an entire treasury,” said Balin, appearing from a side chamber. 

Bilbo laughed and greeted the King in his own right before confessing to his own share of pining. “I’m afraid I wrote rather a lot about you.” 

Thorin cocked his head. “And do your stories have a happy ending?” 

Bilbo looked over to where the heads of Kili, Fili and Ori appeared around the corner of the door. Bilbo slipped his hand into Thorin’s. “They do, yes. Now, they do.” 

_On the eve of battle, dwarf and hobbit lay together under the mountain. In a hidden pocket across the room lay the instrument of the hobbit’s betrayal, and the object of the dwarf’s obsession._

_Bilbo sought one more kiss which became one more and then—_

_“Peace, Burglar, peace! I’m spent!”_

_Bilbo blushed to the tips of his ears and tried to memorize the fondness in Thorin’s eyes before he destroyed it for good._

_“What is it?” Thorin asked. “Do you fear we shall be lost in battle tomorrow?”_

_Bilbo thought on the stone and what he knew he must do for Thorin’s sake and found courage to nod, though he feared his voice would betray him if he spoke._

_Thorin pulled him closer and kissed the top of his head. “Nothing can part us now,” he said._

_“Nothing?”_

_“Not even death.”_

_He supposed that might be time enough to obtain Thorin’s forgiveness. Bilbo contented himself with that small hope and allowed himself to rest._

In all the time they were apart, Bilbo had thought on their brief time together, his betrayal, Thorin’s every word to him kind, cruel or tender, but never once had he allowed himself to consider what a life beyond the Gray Havens might hold for him. Now, in a bed posted by four separate oaks carved into depictions of their adventure together, Bilbo lay with his head pillowed on the arm of his King and felt embers of relief stir and bank until a glorious conflagration of joy erupted in a laugh from his belly. 

Thorin loved him still. 

Bilbo thought on the future now, and hoped.


End file.
